Ave Atque Vale
by kishiria
Summary: Reformatted and edited. Garma Zabi is dead. Will he be allowed to rest in peace? First written in 1986.


I melted into my armchair and lay slumped there for a while before kicking off my boots. I have my very own Kishiria Zabi method of doing this. It involves only moving my feet, thus using the smallest amount of energy remaining after a twelve hour day. I was bone-tired with no end in sight, so I resolved to relax as much as I could between working hours. In a few minutes I'd make myself a cup of tea.  
  
I let my hair down and tried to gather enough strength to move from my chair to the microwave. With a grunt I finally managed to get to my feet and shuffle into my kitchenette. I stuck a mug of water into the microwave, and as the water heated I idly ran my fingertips through my waist-length red hair. Every night I thought about cutting it to something more manageable and every night I decided against it. Anything to keep me distinct as the one daughter in the Zabi family.  
  
The timer on the microwave went off at the same moment that the phone rang. I let it ring again as I removed the cup and added a teabag, then answered on the fourth ring.  
  
"Kishiria Zabi."  
  
The gruff bass of my brother answered me. "Kish, this is Dozel. I have some bad news."  
  
I sat down to listen. "I hope it's not Dad's heart."  
  
"No, Dad's fine." I heard his voice crack. "Garma's dead."  
  
I almost lost my grip on the phone. "Dead? No. How did it happen? He didn't suffer, did he?"  
  
"His ship was shot down over the ruins of Seattle. I doubt he felt anything at all."  
  
We were both silent for a few seconds. "How's Dad taking this?"  
  
"He seemed okay when I spoke to him, but I think he was drunk. He wants us back right away."  
  
I took a few deep breaths. "Yes. Well, I'll get my ship ready."  
  
"I'll see you in a couple of days then."  
  
"Right. Thanks for letting me know. I'll see you."  
  
We didn't need to say anything else, not until we were all face-to-face. I didn't know if I wanted to cry or be sick. Garma, my little brother, my baby, was dead. He was only 20 and we had given him the most secure positions on Earth. Still, he had a knack for risks and grand gestures.   
  
I was his commander. Why had I heard this from Dozel?  
  
I picked up my tea again, glad it was herbal and soothing. Garma was dead. It seemed impossible. He'd always been sickly, and we'd come close to losing him a few times, but he'd outgrown most of his infirmities. I'd taken it for granted that he'd live to a ripe old age.   
  
I picked up the framed photograph that stood on the endtable. It showed myself and Garma in civilian clothes, he in a dressy sweater and jacket and me in a dress with my hair down. I had my arms around his waist and we were grinning. Garma didn't look 19. His body hadn't filled out to match his growth and there was still mischief in those big brown eyes.  
  
He'd had so much ahead of him. He'd been putting off visiting home for some reason, but we had some fun things planned for when he made it. Of course, I had a suspicion as to why he'd been delaying his return to Jion. A letter I'd received lately from him hinted that he was in love.  
  
The very ordinary idea that my baby brother could fall in love and be loved by another person was the trigger I needed to start sobbing. I had to do my crying now. I could not risk doing it in public. I bawled for half an hour before I felt it was time to get down to business. I dabbed at my eyes, blew my nose, and finished my tea.  
  
"Captain Forsythe, prepare my ship," I said to the open air, to make sure my voice didn't crack. It sounded all right so I picked up the phone again.  
  
"Captain Forsythe, prepare my ship," I said when he answered. "Prince Garma is dead. I must return to Jion at once."  
  
"Oh ma'am, I'm so sorry. We can launch in an hour."  
  
"I'll be down there shortly." My chest felt tight and I was grateful I didn't have to say anything more. I called my lady in waiting and told her to pack my things. I called my press liaison and informed him I would not be talking to the media until further notice. I turned on the television and braced myself. Sure enough, there was brief footage of a wrecked Gau which looked as if it had been on the ground for a while. There was my father's press attache saying that Prince Garma had made an unauthorized sortie against a Federation vessel, without the knowledge of his superiors. A survivor was being interrogated.  
  
The trip to Jion was pure agony, but at least I got answers. Garma had learned one thing from his older siblings too well: always have your own intelligence service. Somehow they'd found the Federation ship we codenamed "Trojan Horse" and decided on his own to take it out. The city where he'd died had been abandoned and word had gone to Dozel first because the one survivor was attached to Dozel's command, not mine.  
  
When we arrived, my limousine pulled into the garage below the palace at the same time as Dozel's. I waited for him to approach and saluted. "Admiral Zabi."  
  
He returned it. "General Zabi."  
  
"Sir." I fell in step with him as we entered the elevator.  
  
Once away from prying eyes we dropped the military mannerisms and hugged each other. Dozel is a huge bear of a man and having his arms around me was immensely comforting.  
  
"What a reason to come home," I complained. "Even if we did all know it was a possibility. He's not the first young man to die in combat."  
  
"I know, but he was ours, and we tried to keep this from happening."  
  
"What does the survivor say happened?"  
  
Dozel took a deep breath. "The Trojan Horse had passed point S-3, so Garma's Gau flew out to Seattle to intercept it. Once in the area he apparently became convinced that the Federation ship was ahead of him. The Gau flew in pursuit, over a roofed sports arena. Well, the Horse was in the arena and attacked him from the rear. Garma must have turned the ship around for a suicide dive. That's what the wreakage indicated. The dive failed."  
  
The elevator stopped at throne room level. We exited and were admitted through the massive double doors into the hall where Dad was sitting. All the way at the end sat the rotund figure of His Majesty King Degin I in his big, overly-draped throne. His face looked a little grey but he managed a smile for both of us. As if Garma's death weren't enough, Dad had apparently been arguing with Giren. My reptilian older brother was glowering at us from beside the throne.  
  
"Sorry we're late, Dad," Dozel said as we advanced towards the dais.  
  
"Not at all. You two have arrived very early."  
  
Dozel bellows to express just about everything, so this was no exception. "My little brother! I still can't believe it. I almost expect him to show up here at any minute."  
  
"Garma getting killed like this," I added. "It's awful."  
  
Giren, who I suspect was the only happy person in the room, stepped forward with some of his wit and wisdom. "Dozel, battles aren't won by looking to the past."  
  
Dozel grunted. "I thought he'd grow up to be a great leader. I was looking forward to that." He kicked lightly at the floor. "All gone, now."  
  
"Dozel is right," Dad sighed. "So Giren, we'll have a quiet family funeral to pray for his soul, won't we?"  
  
Giren gave the two of us an ugly look, then answered, "Yes, Father."  
  
Dad, Dozel, and I stood like mannequins until we knew he was gone. Once we were alone in that cavern of a room, we two climbed up onto the dais and hugged Dad. Up close I could tell that he'd aged years and that his eyes were red and puffy.  
  
"Giren and I have been quarrelling," he admitted softly. "He wants to make Garma a national martyr, a symbol of all that's right and good in Jion yet destroyed by our enemies. I won't have it. He hated Garma in life; he's not using my boy in death."  
  
"He does have a point on one thing," I said. "Garma wasn't like other Jion soldiers. He was a member of the royal family. He didn't belong just to us. We owe it to the people to have a public funeral."  
  
Dad began sobbing. I felt a lump in my throat and looked up to see that Dozel's expression towards me was anything but kind.  
  
I backpedalled a little. "That's not to say I want to use Garma's death for politics. I just know from history that if we as a royal family have a private funeral, the people will become angry, saying we're insensitive to their need to mourn for him."  
  
"You are right, Kish," my father sighed. "You are right."   
  
A few hours after this, I was out in the stable. We keep several horses for riding in ceremonies. Garma had been the only serious rider in the family. His horse was an incorrigible chestnut mare named Katusha. She was a beautiful animal, but she'd been born neurotic. Garma had always had a knack with animals though, and she had fallen in love with him when she was a filly and he was thirteen. He'd meant to bring her to Earth, but circumstances hadn't permitted it.  
  
I rubbed Katusha's nose, fed her a wisp of hay, then walked out into the park. I'd changed into a jersey blouse, a blazer and long skirt with my hair in a braid. I tucked my hands into the pockets of my jacket and arched my back until the ends of my hair touched the backs of my thighs. A cool breeze caused a few strands of hair to tickle my neck. The reflected sun was bright and it was a lovely day. I would have enjoyed it thoroughly if I hadn't felt so lousy. Dozel was right, I did keep half-expecting to see Garma running towards me, calling out my name and maybe carrying a frisbee.  
  
I strolled out farther, then spotted Dozel and his wife Zena in the rose garden. I pulled my hands out of my pockets and strode towards them.  
  
By the time I reached the garden, they were sitting on one of the stone benches, playing with their baby girl. Mineba was one month old and big for a child her age, but to Dozel she was still just a double handful.  
  
When I got to them, Zena automatically handed her to me. I hoisted her in the air, watched her kick little bootied feed at me, then cuddled her close. Garma had looked just like her when he was a baby.  
  
"How are doing?" Zena asked me.  
  
"I was about to ask you the same question. I'm doing all right I suppose. I just don't feel very social."  
  
"That's understandable," Dozel said. "Zena and I were trying to drown our sorrows in the family circle."  
  
"I think we were succeeding," Zena added. She put an arm around his waist and hugged. I shifted the baby's weight to my other arm and envied Dozel.  
  
"I'm worried about the succession," I began, unprompted.  
  
"You're not the only one." Dozel turned to look towards Dad's bedroom windows. The curtains were drawn and I could imagine him in there, brooding.  
  
"I guess the throne will go to you, Kishiria," my brother went on. "I don't want to be king and Giren isn't fit for the position. Dad doesn't want to see a Fourth Reich."  
  
Mineba kicked me in the stomach, so I handed her to Zena. "I've no objections. I love our country and I think I'd do a great job of running it."  
  
"I agree with you, but recently, I've been wondering if Jion wouldn't do better with an elected president again."  
  
"President? Really Dozel, you have the funniest ideas sometimes. We've done just fine as a constitutional monarchy. Things fell to pieces under Deykun, why would we want to bring that up again?"  
  
Dozel was about to respond when one of our pages came up to us. The youngster snapped to attention and Dozel gave him the order to speak.  
  
"Yes, Your Highness. His Highness Prince Giren requests that Your Highness and Her Highness Princess Kishiria meet him in his office at once."  
  
Dozel rolled his eyes. "I am busy."  
  
"So am I," I said. "Tell Prince Giren that if this matter is so urgent, he may come to us."  
The page hesitated for a second, but I didn't blame him a bit. I wouldn't have wanted to take a "no" to my brother Giren. Still, he couldn't refuse us either, so he saluted, did an about-face, and marched off as if to certain execution.  
  
We didn't resume our conversation about elected government because Mineba did something cute and distracted us. For two people in the business of war, having a baby around was refreshing.  
  
Twenty or so minutes later, Giren came into the garden. Smoke was practically coming out of his ears, so Dozel hurriedly sent his family back towards the house.  
  
Giren stopped in his tracks about ten feet away and shook a finger at us. "How the hell am I supposed to make anything related to this funeral work without your cooperation?"  
  
I studied a few limp rose petals. "What do you need us for? Garma left funeral instructions with his lawyer, just as Dozel and I did with ours. Call the lawyer and get them, then call the Archbishop so she can say the memorial mass at the cathedral."  
  
"I'm not going to do that. This funeral needs to be more visible. We may never have an opportunity like this again."  
  
Before I could open my mouth, Dozel did. "What do you mean, 'opportunity'?"  
  
"The troops are becoming half-hearted. According to reports of the military psychologists, the percentage of soldiers who see this conflict as pointless has risen from 7.1 to 10.2%."  
  
"What are you getting at?" Dozel insisted.  
  
"Garma was young. He was good-looking and popular. Adults viewed him as the next generation of a strong dynasty. Teenage girls had posters of him on their walls. Little old ladies made him their national grandson. Nothing inspires like a martyr, and Garma present himself as one who is perfect."  
  
Dozel's fist shot out and I jumped for his arm. I hung on with both of mine and clung so that my weight dragged his arm down. I planted my feet as well as I could, trying to slow him. Dozel was screaming obscenities as only someone who's spent all his adult life in the military can. Giren just stood there, looking amused.  
  
"STOP IT!" I shouted. We stood frozen for a moment, Giren smiling smugly, Dozel baring his teeth, I hanging onto his arm.  
  
I released Dozel when he seemed calmer. "Giren, don't ever expect me to protect you again. The only reason I did that was because Dad is having a hard enough time now. He doesn't need to see us tearing at each other like animals."  
  
"Giren," Dozel started, "I've learned from long experience that there isn't any way to keep you from doing something you've decided to do. That's why I won't try to stop you, but this is one of your lowest ideas yet." He turned and marched away, clenching and unclenching his massive fists.  
  
"Kishiria--" Giren began.  
  
It was my turn to glare. "Forget about my cooperation, Giren. Yes, the funeral should be public, but Garma deserves better than you turning him into a poster child."  
  
"You have no sense of pragmatism," Giren observed. "None of you. This is why someday I'll be king, and you'll be forgotten."  
  
"Giren," I said, "one day there'll be a beam from a rifle going through your brains, and that rifle will be in my hands. Remember that."  
  
Giren started laughing and walked away, making a dismissive gesture with his hands. I watched him leave, then kicked over a stone bench before heading off in the same general direction.  
###  
  
"The reports you requested, General Zabi."  
  
I had demanded all available data on my brother's death and was now handed a thickly-stuffed manila envelope. I leaned against the doorway of my apartment and opened it, peering at the photos, disks, and printouts inside. "Were they able to make a transcript of the black box?"  
  
"I don't know, ma'am."  
  
I nodded to the soldier who had made the delivery. I'm sure he was taken aback by the sight of his general standing in her bare feet in civvies. I thanked him and shut the door behind me, sparing him any crises of protocol.  
  
Inside, I dropped into my office chair and spread the materials out on my desk. There were a number of black and white photos of the crash site, but I put them aside for the moment, wanting the reports.  
  
I read a more detailed account of the Gau's last moments, taken partially from the debriefing of the witnesses from escort vessels and one mobile suit pilot. He was someone I knew fairly well.  
  
Major Char Aznable had been Garma's best friend. I was never sure why, because Aznable was as flamboyant as Garma was reserved. Char and I had been on intimate terms for a while, during which I knew he was trying to ingratiate himself to another Zabi. As long as I got to enjoy his beauty, I didn't care.  
  
At the time, we both got what we wanted. Now I became suspicious of my casual lover. True, he was the best pilot in the service, but it wasn't the fact that he'd been out in a Zaku that bothered me. It was the fact that he'd survived. If he and Garma were such great friends, why hadn't he tried harder to save him? Char had to answer to Dozel for failing, and I know I'd find that a pretty good incentive to keep Garma alive.  
  
Char had always been an enigma. He wore a mask, as I do, and I'd always assumed we both wore them to add to our mystique. Garma and I had certainly seen him without it. He was also an orphan who never discussed his past.  
  
I was thoughtful as I dressed for dinner. The key to this seemed to be research into Aznable's personal history.  
  
Giren and Dozel have their own residences across town. Garma and I had apartments in the palace for when we were home. Consequently, the family doesn't have dinner together unless Dad requests it. I don't know why he did it that particular night. None of us had much to say and our eyes kept wandering to that empty chair. Dad wasn't eating, really. He picked at his supper and spent more time sipping at a glass of Scotch. By the time dessert was served, he was pouring his third glass. Before he could raise it, I stretched out my arm and put my hand over his.  
  
"Don't, Dad. Getting drunk won't bring him back."  
  
"You don't want a hangover on top of everything else," added Dozel.  
  
Dad looked at me with the saddest expression I've ever seen. "It helps me feel nothing," he explained.  
  
"We're all grieving," I told him. "What would Garma say if he saw you getting drunk like this? You know he wouldn't approve."  
  
He began to dissolve into tears. "I know, Kishiria. It just hurts so badly."  
  
Dad dropped his head onto his arms. I held his hand, wishing I wasn't so bad at this kind of thing. This was all too much for Giren, who pushed his chair back, picked up his newspaper, and left.  
  
I sat with Dad for a few hours after dinner. I'm not used to playing the role of a nurturer-comforter, so I suppose I should have been glad that he didn't try to "share what he was feeling" or something gruesome like that. Instead, he picked up a photo of Garma and stared at it for the time I was there, and it hurt. I don't get to see Dad very often, and I realized that I really wanted to talk, more than ever.  
  
Before going to bed, I called my favourite Intelligence researchers and asked them to investigate Char Aznable. After that I sat in bed, reading a mystery novel.  
  
Usually Garma would come in to visit me before he turned in. We would sit up talking or playing Scrabble until we both got sleepy, whereupon I'd kiss him goodnight and he'd go back to his room. I really treasured those moments and the thought of never having them against brought more tears to my eyes. I shut the book, switched off the light and stretched out under the covers.  
  
Sleep wouldn't come. I lay there tired for an hour but couldn't go under. I ended up watching the play of shadows on the wall and the sounds of the guards making their rounds. I tried to think of relaxing things like beaches and forests, but it didn't work. My mind kept turning to the problems at hand.  
  
Giren's state funeral was going to be horrible. Nonetheless, I had to attend since it would look extremely bad to the public if I wasn't there. Would Char Aznable do the same? Then, unbidden, the question came to me, would a murderer show up at the funeral of his victim?  
  
What made me think Garma had been murdered? I didn't know, but since my hunches are usually correct I was going to run with this one.  
  
Dozel and Zena had the excellent idea of using the tradition of holding a wake to give us a family mourning period. An empty casket, draped with the flag of Jion, stood in the aisle of the St. George chapel. On top of the casket lay Garma's service helmet and sabre. Archbishop Veronica said a very moving sermon on the meaning of courage and true patriotism and told us how Garma was in heaven and whatnot. I sat with Dad until the moment when Dozel and I went up to place a wreath and a wooden box containing a Jion Cross medal on top of the coffin.  
  
The Jion Cross had been Garma's dream. Well, he had it now. I wondered if he'd consciously traded his life for a medal, then decided that he'd never be so stupid. White Base and that Feddie mobile suit were the Federation's best weapons, so he had probably tried to destroy them because it made sense. I would have. Anyway, he had won his coveted medal. I wanted someone to choke on it.  
  
The miseries of that day weren't over. When we returned home from the church, Dad's personal mail had arrived. He likes to find it in his sun room where he can read with the light gushing in through the picture windows. He, Dozel and I went in for tea and our as-yet unread papers, where I was the first to see the flat cardboard envelope.  
  
I identified it as the sort that usually held diskettes and swallowed as I recognized the handwriting on the outside. Garma must have sent this last letter the morning of his death.  
  
Dad took it out of my hands. It wasn't the sort of thing I felt I had the right to conceal from him, so I was very glad to hear Dozel ask, "Do you think it'll be a good idea to watch that now, Dad?"  
  
For the first time in two days, he snapped. "Since you've come home, all you've done is treat me like a child. I'm twice your age, both of you, and buried both parents and two wives. Don't you think I know how to handle my own grief?"  
  
Dad tore the container open, inserted the diskette into the boxy player which sat on the endtable, then switched it on. Garma's picture appeared on the little screen. He was in uniform, his hair carefuly brushed, and although he looked a little pale, his big eyes sparkled. He was so cute it was agonizing.  
  
"Hi, Dad!" he chirped ghostlike from the speaker. "How are you? I'm okay, except I found I'm allergic to some of these Earth plants. That's why my nose won't stop running, I don't have a cold at all. My doctor's given me some medicine for it which lets me breathe, but makes me groggy. So when I'm awake I'm useless because I'm sneezing, but on medications I'm useless too. Oh well. I guess useless is what I'm good for. On a positive note, I've gained five pounds.  
  
"Char's with me; Dozel loaned him to my forces. I'm glad, because most of the other guys my age are enlisted, and I'm not allowed to make friends with them. I've been lonely. Char keeps saying I need a girlfriend, but that's not necessary. Really it isn't."  
  
He'd said the same thing in a letter to me, and once again I wondered what he meant.  
  
"Anyway," he continued, completely abandoning that tantalizing comment, "I hope that I'll be able to come home soon, with evidence of my accomplishments here. I want the people to see that I'll become a leader they can look up to.  
  
"I'm looking forward to seeing you."  
  
The letter ended and the clip slid out of the player, onto the table. The three of us sat around it, not speaking or even looking at each other. It's one thing to read a written letter from a dead person, but to see them on a tape is another. Hearing Garma's voice and seeing him beaming from the screen made his death much harder to accept.  
  
That night found us all thoroughly depressed, although I could picture Giren singing gleefully to himself as he put the final touches on the funeral for tomorrow. I hated myself for not being able to stop him, but my weapon is stealth and suberterfuge, not brute force. Giren's henchmen tend to die in tragic accidents. If I could have found a way to use that against him this time, I would have.  
  
I wasn't in the mood to watch Dad mope and I didn't think Dozel and Zena wanted to be disturbed, so I whiled away the hours reading the files of Char Aznable. What I discovered was very useful. Jion's favourite overachiever had no next of kin. He had no school records. Medical documentation led ultimately to a physician who'd died years ago. He'd simply begun military academy and that was the start of his verifiable existence. However, comparison of fingerprints traced him to a boy named Edouard Mass in France, whose passport photos showed him to be a dead ringer for Char Aznable.  
  
When I was a young girl, I'd attended the funeral of Jion Deykun. Also present was his ten-year-old, flaxen-haired son Casval. My researchers had put in photos of Casval just because Edouard Mass's photos rang a bell with one of them. I lay the photos side-by-side in chronological order.   
  
For me, there's no pleasure greater than finding that one of my hunches results in a direct hit. I had nailed the bastard. Char Aznable was Casval Deykun, and he had murdered my brother as the first step to reclaiming his throne.  
  
I called my chief of secret police and told him to make an arrest. I slept very well that night.  
  
I woke up on the morning of the state funeral without the sense of dread I'd been expecting. My feeling of victory from the night before was still with me. I got up, showered, and dressed in a fresh uniform before my maid came in to help me with my hair. She had a note from Dozel inviting me down to his apartment for breakfast and in my haste to be there on time--Dozel detests lateness--I didn't examine my makeup more closely and I ended up with a lipstick shade that was entirely too red. When I saw the news broadcasts later I saw I'd looked ridiculous.  
  
A few minutes later, I was being offered a spread of eggs, bacon, ham, pancakes, muffins, and coffee. Dozel was having "all of the above", naturally. I settled for a muffin and coffee.   
  
When Zena had left the room, Dozel reached under the table to sneak some bacon to his Irish wolfhound. "The wife doesn't like it when I feed the dog at the table, but I feel loyalty should be rewarded," he explained.  
  
I reached down to scratch the dog's furry ears. "Remember the time Wolf here took Garma for a drag?"  
  
Dozel smiled. "I remember. It was Garma's first time outside since--what sickness had he just gotten over?"  
  
Zena entered the room again and took her place at the table. "Another bout of bronchitis. And don't feed the dog at the table!"  
  
Dozel didn't act chastened, but he did stop feeding the dog. "Poor Garma. Wolf must have dragged him half a mile. He came back covered in grass and twigs."  
  
"I helped him get back in bed," I recalled. "He said to me, 'Kish, why can't Dozel just have a corgi or a retriever like a normal person?'."  
  
"Oh yes," Dozel said, "I can just see myself as the proud owner of a corgi."  
  
Zena poured herself some tea. "We shouldn't laugh. He was very depressed about that. All that boy ever wanted was respect, and to be the role model he was told to be." She took a sip of her tea. "And now he's dead."  
  
There was another one of those horrible silences around the table.  
  
"So," I began again, "I understand that Major Char Aznable survived the battle. Should we expect him at the funeral?"  
  
Zena stood. "I think I'd better check on the baby."  
  
"He's been fired," Dozel told me. "Dishonourable discharge. This time next week, I expect he'll be operating industrial robots in New Jersey. I'll make sure he's fired from that too. Unless of course Giren gets to him. I was informed last night that Giren's lawyers were observed researching the legality of broadcasting an execution."  
  
"That seems extreme," I commented, taking another bite from my muffin.  
  
"Stay out of it," Dozel warned. "This is one time I wouldn't stand in Giren's way. Aznable deserves to die, and I'd have shot him myself if I could only prove he was guilty. I know you and he have some sort of romantic past--"  
  
"I wouldn't call it romantic exactly," I corrected him.  
  
"Just stay out of it," Dozel went on, and let it drop. He fed another piece of bacon to Wolf. "If you're finished with breakfast, perhaps you should go get Dad."  
  
As I walked to His Majesty's quarters, I fumed. True, Dozel had every right to treat Char as he had done, but if Dozel didn't want him in his part of the military, I did. Since I head both the mobile armour and New Type research units, I had plenty of uses for Char and I didn't want to see him wasted in front of a firing squad. I hoped my order for his arrest had been carried out. In detention in one of my prisons was the only place he'd be safe. Dozel and I would not be friends afterwards, but I reasoned that we could patch things up at the end of the war which, if I could carry out my own plans, would not be far off.  
  
Dad was sitting in his study, watching Garma's video letter again. I waited for it to finish, then stepped forward and asked, "Dad?"  
  
He looked up at me indifferently.  
  
"I know how difficult this is for you, but the kingdom is watching. You're their ruler. They need you to be strong for them."  
  
Dad nodded, stood up, and left with me. Inside the front gate, Dad, Giren, Dozel and I lined up behind the gun carriage which would have carried Garma's body had there been one. We started the short walk to the open square where the funeral was to be held. It seemed most of the population was there, and I tried not to noticed the tear-streaked faces, the hands clutching photos of my brother, the bouquets that were tossed in front of the gun carriage to be crushed beneath its wheels. For all the size of the crowd, there was a stunning silence, broken only by the sound of a bell in a church tower chiming a "G" note every ten seconds.  
  
We soon saw the backdrop for the funeral, which elicited a soft but unprintable exclamation from Dozel. It was stacked a good thirty feet high with flowers and in the midst of them was an equally tall portrait of our dead brother.  
  
Garma hated cut flowers. I had no doubt that Giren knew this.  
  
We took our seats in our thrones with our staff sitting behind us. The audience here was military, and they began chanting our family name at the tops of their lungs.   
  
"Giren," I stage-whispered across Dozel's bulk, "where's Major Char?"  
  
Giren shrugged. "I assume he's gone back to his unit."  
  
"Ah-hah." You bastard, I thought to myself, do you really think I'm this clueless? I summoned over one of my staff and whispered, "I want Aznable. Now."  
  
Did you know that relationships make a noise when they break? I heard that noise as Dozel turned his eyes towards me with a loathing that was beyond belief. I emotionally braced myself against it. Later, when our independence was secure and he understood why I'd chosen to betray him so, perhaps then he'd understand.  
  
The crowd began to quiet as Giren went to the podium. I silently counted the microphones on the podium, noting among them our own national network of ZBC, CNN, BBC, and something called Univision. Giren arranged some notes dramatically and began his speech.  
  
"People of Jion, brothers and sisters, we are here today to mourn for a young man, killed in battle. He was the public's darling, the military's pride. I cannot tell you what he meant to me."  
  
I'll bet, I shot back mentally.  
  
"We have lost one hero, but this is only the beginning. The national strength of Jion is 1/30 that of Earth, yet we keep on winning. Why? My friends, we win because our goal is justice!"  
  
I fully agreed with that statement, but if Giren told me on a sunny day that the sky was blue, I'd fight with him over it on general principle.  
  
"All of us know how we were forced from Earth into space. More than fifty years have passed since then and an elite still governs the Federation of Earth, which now includes space as well. Countless times we have asked for independence and countless times we have been refused. Jion's war is for freedom of the individual!"  
  
One of my staff who is a civil-liberties freak snorted softly. I ignored it. He's a good man otherwise.  
  
"My youngest brother, our beloved Garma Zabi--"  
  
Finally my brother got mentioned.  
  
"--is dead. He gave his life for the principles of spacenoid independence. It follows both naturally and historically that we, the special people, should govern the world. Therefore, we must fight seriously for the sake of humanity. We have reached sophistication under the severe conditions of space. Jion Deykun used to say that history belongs to us pioneers. Still, the Federations idiots wish to subjugate us and attack us constantly. When Jion Deykun died, it was Federal reactionaries who murdered his children! Never forget this sadness and anger! Garma's death tells us this. Now we must band together against the Federation. This victory will be the best tribute to our beloved dead."  
  
I know that at that moment, Dozel must have been angry enough to kill me. Nonetheless, he covered his mouth so the camera's couldn't see and whispered to me, "Giren's not inspiring the troops. He's escalating the war!"  
  
I nodded, an icy pit opening in my stomach as the crowd started chanting "Sieg Jion!" at Giren's urging. This is precisely what we did not need. We needed to continue our slight edge over the Federation right now, not to escalate things to the point that we'd be hurling our own people needlessly to their deaths again, as we had been ten months before. I was more determined than ever to use Char. We had to win this war soon, during which Giren would have to meet his fate somehow.  
  
In the meantime, this is not the sendoff we should have given the people to see. It was stirring up emotions inappropriate for the funeral of a young man barely out of childhood who had loved horses, hiking, and classical music. At that moment I started to seethe, seeing my Garma betrayed first by a man he'd thought was his friend and now by a brother who was exploiting him. Giren's days were numbered. They always had been, but now there was an end in sight.   
  
I left my seat in the midst of the hysteria, knowing I'd have to make my next move quickly, then get out of Jion before I could run into either of my brothers again. I hastened back to my quarters, changed clothes, and ordered my maid to pack. I asked another servant for some items and got my car keys.  
  
The foothills were change I needed after the mob in the city. I sat with my back against a tree, toying with a pine cone and watching night fall. My mind was not on revenge at the moment. I wanted to remember my brother.  
  
There were things of his I would keep. Some of his clothes fit me and there was a teddy bear of his that I wanted. I 'd sent a message to his secretary and personal servants on Earth to send me his photos, letters, and journals.  
  
I stood and walked casually to where a steep drop overlooked the river. I watched the current tumble along far below me, then opened up my backpack to pull out one of Garma's uniform tunics and his officer's helmet. I stuffed the tunic into the helmet and hoisted my arm back, pausing a second before hurling them into the ravine. I watched them plummet into the river below, then went back to watching the sunset. Finally I felt read to start living normally again and that somehow Garma was free of us all, free to do as he pleased for a change.  
  
"Have fun, kiddo," I told him, and headed back to the car. 


End file.
